


Home Again, Home Again

by Barkour



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home's the thing you make. Guy and Tora are still figuring that out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Again, Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> Future fic for the pre-DCnU reboot continuity.

Guy got two steps into the bedroom from the balcony, the night sky bright with city lights at his back. Then he stopped. A voice he didn't recognize came from the direction of the bathroom. If the ring had a trigger, he'd his finger on it. He was thinking, straight shot then tie 'em down (and where the hell was Tora)-- Then the voice gave way to a jingle:  _one-oh-three eff-em_ ; he knew the rest of it. Frank Sinatra started singing about flying down to a bar in far Bombay. Not with my girl, you don't, Guy thought. He hooked the balcony door shut behind him. The latch slipped in place. 

Tora'd made the bed up neatly in the morning before he headed out, same as she did every day - she'd slapped at his hands when he made to tug the comforter out of whack just to get her riled up - but the sheets were turned down on her side and wrinkled, too. Another afternoon nap. Normal stuff. He smoothed his hand along the foot of the bed. Nothing to worry about.

"Once I get you up there where the air is rarefied," Frank Sinatra crooned, "we'll just glide, starry-eyed."

The apartment was dark but for a light in the kitchen and another peeking out under the bathroom door. Three bags on the kitchen table, so she must've just beaten him back to the place. He made a point of stomping twice before stripping his boots away, but she had the radio up damn loud. She was singing, too; he heard that when he put his hand on the door, heard her voice echoing off the hardwood floor.

Tora wasn't much of a singer, truth be told; she breathed the lines more than she sang, but hell, it was better than ol' Blue Eyes croaking out every other word, and one of the two's breathy little lines made Guy's hair stand up all over and it sure wasn't the dead guy. Guy leaned into the door and it swung gently open.

"Just say the word," Tora sang to her reflection, "and we'll beat the birds down to Acapulco Bay." 

She held some frilly sort of teddy up to her chest, a soft-looking pink thing with ruffles at the hems and a flare at her hips. The small, hard roundness of her belly pushed it out. If that first moment of alarm, thinking someone strange had got into their apartment, had been like a shot of something illegal into his heart, this was like a punch to the gut. Damn, if it didn't still knock him half back off his feet.

Tora stroked her hand over her belly, the teddy between them; the cloth pulled taut over the bump. Her breasts were thicker, too, heavier in her bra, and her thighs were a little wider, but her chin was still sharp. She lifted it sharply enough. A flyaway tuft of white hair fell against her ear. She pursed her lips and frowned.

Guy leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and said, "I don't know. I think you'd look good in it."

She jumped--he saw her eyes widen and her chin fall in the mirror--and Tora turned, clutching the top to her breast. A cascade of ruffles peeked out from under her wrist. She reddened ferociously.

"Guy!" She said this in a furious whisper, nearly drowned out by the radio perched by the sink. Frank Sinatra was still caterwauling away. The blush had almost crept up to her eyes. "You're supposed to knock before you go barging into a closed bathroom."

"Hey, the door was open," he protested. She'd turned so her front was to him and the top in front of her, but the hem cut off at the top of her thighs and the rest of her was bare. Guy rubbed at his nose and looked away. "Anyway, we've been married for what, three years--"

"Four years," said Tora, "and you know it." She stuck her finger at him. Her mouth furrowed. "You're teasing me again, and I don't appreciate it."

"You got me," he said. "Four years and two months, you wanna get precise about it. I could get into days and hours if you wanted--"

"What I want," said Tora, still holding the teddy to her chest, "is for you to close the door."

"Point is, you don't have anything I haven't seen before." He gestured to all of her. Her knees pressed together, and her thighs rounded. Guy dropped his hand. "You know, specific to you."

"If you don't get out," she said, very prim, very proper, "I'll freeze you to the far wall and you can wait until the ice melts to get out."

He made to step into the bathroom. "But I gotta hit the head."

Tora lifted her hand. The teddy swung free; her pale, rounded belly flashed. Her eyebrows arched, and the tips of her fingers began to turn a shade of pale blue shot through with veins of white. Hastily, Guy swung the door shut. 

Frank Sinatra belted, "Pack up, let's fly--"

The radio shut off.

Guy was grinning when he got down to the kitchen. He dropped his threads as he went, the construct unraveling till all he'd on were his boxers--gag ones from Kyle, peppered with cartoon hearts and bubble letters that said "I ♥ COAST CITY." He probably should've burned 'em. He  _had_  thrown 'em out once, but they'd wound up in his dresser again, and when he'd asked Tora about it, her eyes had just gone all huge and round and gut-pinchingly blue the way they did when she was pulling a fast one.

Alone in the kitchen, Guy stretched, left arm behind his head and then the right, pulling until the knot between his shoulders eased. The apartment was cool; a wave of goosebumps washed down his back, and he thought about throwing on a shirt, but if a man couldn't walk around his own apartment in his boxers, then where could he? Besides, it wasn't like he had anything Tora hadn't seen before, either. He grinned again.

One of the three bags had fallen over on its side. More frilly stuff. Another top, a blue one, peeked out of the bag, and Guy ran his thumb over the lace. That  _did_  feel creepy, like he was some kind of perv rubbing one out to a neighbor's panties hung out to dry. He hooked the straps and dumped the bag in Tora's chair. Everything else was groceries, dry goods, and he got to work putting that junk away.

The bathroom door creaked open. A light footstep followed. Guy pretended he hadn't heard. Dishwasher empty. Checking the kitchen sink he found a couple plates left to soak; he transferred those over to the dishwasher. Now the footsteps shadowed him.

Tora touched his back. Her fingers slid up along the musculature lining his ribs; her palms followed, and she hugged him from behind, her hands resting on his chest. His nipples tightened, and his gut did, too. He sucked in a breath.

"Damn, babe," he said, half-laughing, "your hands are like ice."

Tora made a ha-ha-ha sound and pressed her cold face to his back. Her breath bit, a wintry front. Guy squirmed out of her arms and turned. Her hands slipped low, resting on the slight curve above his hips. No teddy for Tora, just a thin spaghetti strap shirt and boxers. Tora lifted her face. Her hair, grown out, fell in a white wave over her shoulders. He touched the corner of her jaw. 

"Sneaking up on me, huh?"

The soft, dark corners of her eyes creased very faintly. She tossed her hair. She'd enough of it now that she could almost pull that move off.

"You may consider that revenge for sneaking up on me."

He stroked her hair behind her ear and cupped the cool, curving side of her face. Her eyes lidded, her ghostly pale eyelashes dripping like icicles against her cheeks; the faintest glimmer of blue peeked through them.

"Man can't use his own bathroom these days."

At his waist, her fingers began delicately to curl. Tora took a small step back and gestured. Her lashes raised again. She blinked artfully.

"It's free now."

"Oh, no, you don't," he said as she wriggled away. "You're not getting away from Green Lantern numero uno that easy."

But she did, after all, still so light on her toes. Tora swung around the table; the ends of her hair flared out behind her. For a moment she looked ethereal, like ice on the sidewalk before you brought your heel down to crack it, and then she settled on her heels and bent over her chair. Her hand fluttered to her belly, then away.

"I, uh, didn't know where you wanted me to put that," Guy said, picking at his ear. He'd got an image in his noggin of her wearing that teddy she'd been holding up, just the teddy, all pink lace and ruffles hugging her breasts and that baby bump, not really covering anything at all. His gut itched. "Victoria's Secret going out of business or something?"

Tora scrunched her face up. "Bea took me out shopping for maternity wear," she said. "Since I'm on League reserve, I don't really have much else to do." She made a face--Tora hadn't much liked getting bumped to the reserve list, and he couldn't really fault her for it--and hoisted the bag up.

"Maternity wear?" He trailed after her out of the kitchen. "You sure about that? 'Cause I've seen what pregnant ladies wear and I don't wanna sound like, I dunno, some kinda pig or anything--"

And damn, the look she threw him at that. Eyebrow crooked, eyes narrowed, the center of her lips rounding. Yeah, he thought, you still got it bad, Gardner.

"Well," he said, "it sure don't look like that stuff."

"I'm not going to wear muumuus," she said primly. "I refuse to wear a single muumuu. Plenty of designers have maternity lines that are stylish  _and_  flattering, and I don't intend to go into hiding."

"That'd be a damn shame," he said. "Here, let me get that for you--"

"I can still walk, Guy," said Tora as she crouched before the dresser. "I can even bend over, too."

He made to stuff his hands in his jacket pocket, but of course he'd stripped down to his boxers. Guy scratched at his neck and dropped onto the foot of the bed, his legs spread out before him.

"Betcha can't touch your toes at the same time, though."

"And I bet you couldn't touch your toes, either," said Tora. "Not without cheating, at least."

"Ring ain't cheating."

She slid the bag into the bottom drawer and closed it. She stood easily enough, and only a slight tension in her thighs showed the proof of the new weight she carried.

"You still napping in the afternoon?"

"Mm." Tora perched beside him on the bed, and Guy slung his arm around her waist. "Not for very long, though. The doctor says napping is normal, but I shouldn't sleep more than an hour at a time."

"Yeah?" He stroked the suggestion of her belly, where it started at her side. "What else does the doctor say?"

She elbowed him. "If you come with me next week, you can hear for yourself."

He made a show of surprise. "Shit, is that next week?"

"You're not a very good actor," she told him. "And yes, it's next week. Tuesday, at ten in the morning."

"Yup. Got it on my calendar."

His ring threw up a day calendar and passed through the days, a cartoon blur that settled on next Tuesday. Tora smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.

"And don't be late this time."

He turned his head; his nose brushed her hair. Guy dropped a kiss in her part.

"Sorry I ran late today."

"Yesterday, too."

"Yeah, and yesterday, too," he allowed, "and the day before that. The blue guys got me running double-time."

"Mm," she said again. Tora lifted her head. Her eyes were very blue, a dark blue like deep, old ice. "But you do have your leave arranged, don't you?"

"Salaak's still giving me grief, but yeah," he said. "Last trimester, I'm all yours, and then I got another three months R&R accrued so unless someone raises another Outer God, it's gonna be me and you and the baby."

"And the baby," Tora echoed. Her mouth pinched.

Guy loosened his grip on her waist. His thumb swept the small of her back.

"What? What is it? You need me to get the can?"

"No," she said absently, then her gaze fixed on him again. Tora looked thoughtful, mostly, and maybe a little bit dreamy and maybe a little bit sharp. "It's just very odd, sometimes, to think. We made a baby, didn't we?"

"Hell, yeah, we did," said Guy. He kissed the side of her throat, just an absent sort of kiss.

Then Tora turned in his arms. Her hand settled on his clavicle, her fingers trailing up along the hollow of his throat. She was smiling. Everything about her was soft then, even the hard swell of her belly. He'd forgotten to turn off the light in the kitchen; now it caught in her hair where it glimmered like silver. 

Tora's eyes were darker. Her fingernails whispered over his skin. She held his chin in her palm, and Guy leaned down that her fingers might better fit to his jaw.

"We did, didn't we," she said.

"Sure did, Tora," he said. He touched that hard swell at the front of her, cradled the growing weight. There wasn't much to it just yet, but he thought, remembering what the doc had said, in another month or two the baby would be moving. Their baby.

Guy turned his head and kissed the side of her wrist. Her pulse fluttered.

"I put a baby in you, ma'am."

Tora laughed. God, he loved it when she laughed; she never seemed to do it enough for him. Her fingertips fiddled across his jaw. She shifted in his arm, pressed nearer to him, and her long, white hair crackled like frost over his chest.

"Don't be so proud of yourself," she said. "I was there, too. You do remember that, don't you?"

"What, of course I remember," he said. "Uh-- Tall broad, thick shoulders, black hair, let me know if I'm getting close--"

Her thumb settled on his lip. Tora knit her brow with mock severity.

"Don't you ever call me a broad again," she said.

"Oh, hey," he said to the little round tip of her thumb, "lemme make that up to you."

Tora looked to the ceiling, as if mulling it over; her lips bunched and pushed to one side, then the other. At last, she tipped her face up to him. Her lashes dropped low again, and at his jaw, hooked in the soft part under, her fingers pulled him forward. Hey, if the lady wanted him to kiss her, who was he to say no dice? So:

Guy kissed her, all chaste-like. Mouth closed, lips dry. Tora's breath so soft and cold on his nose. His hand still and light on her belly.  _Her_  hand slid round to his nape; her fingers curled and uncurled in his hair. Tora sighed, and her lips parted so sweetly; her breath nipped at his teeth. Guy chased the cold away, sucking at the thicker swell of her lower lip. And there was something to be said by someone better with words than Guy about how nice it was just to kiss, about the lazy comfort in kissing someone you loved, someone you'd loved a long time. It was more than he'd hoped for, sometimes, but here she was anyway: Tora with her white hair and her cold hands and her laugh like melting ice and her middle thickening 'cause  _damn_ , they'd made a  _baby_.

"I love you," he said in the little space between one frosted kiss and another, "Tora, baby, I love you so God damn much--"

And he did, Jesus, he loved her so much; he wanted to wrap himself around her so that no one could ever hurt her ever again, not even Guy, and so what if he knew she could take care of herself and it wasn't like she'd take kindly to him presuming he knew more than she did on the subject of what was best for Tora? But that meant something, too, he figured; if she told him to amscray, get out of town, beat it, Jack, and hit the road while you're at it, well-- Maybe that was love. Maybe love was not doing something you wanted because the thing you wanted made the other person hurt.

"Anything you want," he said. He stroked her shoulder, that trembling line; he stroked her back, still so slender. She nuzzled his nose, and her lips ghosted once, twice, over his. He said, "Anything you want, Tora, all you gotta do is tell me and it's yours."

"Turn off the lights, Guy," Tora whispered.

He turned off the lights. The ring glowed, green tendrils creeping through the apartment and then dissolving. A black shadow like a caress consumed Tora's throat, then his eyes refocused. The city was a haze outside the balcony, the night sky livid with light pollution. In that thin light, she reached for the straps of her shirt. Her shoulders flashed, knobby and pale. She'd drawn her legs up onto the bed; her toes curled, bare. Love burst like an overripe melon in his gut.

Guy knelt at the foot of the bed, between her white feet. She'd lowered her head; the shirt had caught on her breasts. A small shadow filled her navel, half-popped. He put one hand on her left thigh and another on her right thigh, and he pressed his tongue to the shadow there in her belly. Tora said, "Oh!" and sucked in a breath. Her chest swelled. One of the shirt straps shivered against her arm, near her elbow.

Be a gentleman, Gardner, and help the lady out, he thought. The ring obeyed. Little green hands picked at her shirt, pulling up, pulling out. Tora lifted her arms. A grunt snuck through her teeth, and her hair slithered out of the shirt. Like a cloud of snow falling onto her breasts.

"Thank you," she said.

He leaned up to kiss her breasts. Her hair tickled his lips, his nose, his throat. 

"Don't mention it."

She carded her fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his brow. Her nails traced the shape of his ear.

"I love you, too," she said, "so very, very much. With all my heart."

The force of all the years dragged at him. They were heavy on him, so heavy, and he saw them heavy in her smile, in the way her eyes softened as she touched his cheek.

"'Course you do," he said. It came out hoarse. He hid his face in the side of her breast, muffled his voice in another kiss. "Where else are you gonna find a stud half as wild as me in the sack?"

She drew in breath again. "Guy!" 

Shame he couldn't see her face. Four years of marriage and she still got riled up when he said things like that. Four years of marriage and he still said things like that. 

She slapped his shoulder, too, when she said his name. Her fingers coiled around the joint, the tips fitting to the hollow behind it. He took that as a hint. He nipped at the swollen underside of her breast--Tora gasped again, her fingers tightening around his shoulder--and then he dropped, first to her belly, the fat curve of which he spattered with kisses, then lower still.

The hand in his hair tightened. Her legs closed about his shoulders; her heel pressed into his back. He ran his hand down her thigh then up again, clasping her knee. Guy glanced up at her. She'd drawn her shoulders up, and her breasts pushed together, rounding. Her eyes were dark, her throat dark, too, shadows wrapped around her like the arms of a lover. The fingers on his shoulder shivered and trickled down, down, sliding along his arm. She closed her eyes again.

They'd tried dirty talk once, or Tora had tried to pitch in with the dirty talk once, anyway, but she hadn't much liked it. All that  _oooh, harder, baby, fuck me with your monster cock_  crap and cunt-talk just turned her off, and a turned off Tora turned Guy off. But he had her fingers guiding him, the tension in her thighs, how she moved to or against him. How she said his name, how she laughed, how she put her hands on his chest if she needed him to go slow.

Still, when he got his thumbs under her boxers and her boxers down her legs, exposing the pale curls glistening wetly between her legs, he said, "Geez, Tora, honey, what were you doing in that bathroom?"

She kicked and her heel thocked his back. Tora rolled her shoulders; the motion echoed in her breasts, which trembled.

"The doctor says increased arousal is--" Her breath hooked as Guy slid his thumb through her slickened folds. "--is common in the second trimester."

"Damn," said Guy. He grinned. "You did miss me."

She bit her lip. Her nose wrinkled. The blue of her eyes was nearly black in the dark, and her eyelashes were silver. He saw her fingers touch, very briefly, the side of her belly, then she touched his jaw again. His skin felt hot beneath her cool fingers.

"Yes," she said softly, "I did."

It was love that made his skin so hot, love that made him want to grab hold of her and not let go. Guy left a fierce kiss high on the inside of her thigh, the skin there damp. When he touched his tongue to her vulva, Tora shivered and sighed. The fingers on his jaw--her fingers, light and timorous--swept down his throat. His own arousal dragged at him.

Guy licked up her folds, tightening his tongue to fit the smaller set within. The tip of his tongue flicked over her clitoris, and he nipped at the soft, tight nub, already engorged. Tora's fingers dug into his cheek. He tucked his smile between her legs and bit at her clit again. The sour-sweet taste of her was thick on his tongue, the smell of her crisp in his throat.

She made a breathy sort of sound, not yet a moan, so he bit again and chased his teeth with his tongue. That got a moan. So did his thumb pushing into her, the first knuckle bent like a hook. He slicked his tongue down between her labia and up again, and as she shivered, as Tora tightened her legs around his shoulders, he pulled her clit between his teeth and sucked hard.

Tora contracted suddenly around his thumb; the wetness surging startled him. He looked up, and Tora was curled around her belly, her teeth white on her lip, her eyelashes shining on her flushed cheeks. Increased arousal,  _shit_. His gut pounded. He let her leg go, reached down to push his palm against his cock and thought: Settle down, buddy.

"Oh, baby," he said, "you should've told me."

"What?" Her fingers flexed in his hair. Her breath shook. "What should I have told you?"

"That you wanted this," he said. 

He demonstrated with tongue, thumb, pulling another moan out of her. Tora curled her toes. God damn, but she was wet. Guy nuzzled her curls. His breath spooled out, and that made her jump, too, like his breath was so hot she couldn't stand it on her skin, and maybe that was true. He licked at her clit, gently now, and swapped his thumb for his first finger. He stroked her with his wet thumb and then he slipped his second finger in by the first.

Something cold dripped onto his shoulder. Snow. Soft, dry flurries dotted Tora's thighs, her belly, each pale breast. Flurries in his hair, too, melting on his nape, his shoulders, his bared back. Guy dug his fingers in, chasing her wetness. He rolled his tongue around her clit.

He kept thinking about the first time he'd gone done on her, way back in the JLI, back when she was alive the first time and he'd been-- Well. Kept thinking about how she'd covered her breasts with one hand and made as if to stick the other hand between her legs, how he'd had to kiss her thighs again and again until she eased up on him. How they'd both been embarrassed but he hadn't wanted to show it. Tora swallowing every sound, every moan, every sigh, till his name fell off her tongue once there at the end before she covered her face and came around his hand. He'd felt invincible, like God, like John Wayne riding off into the sunset, coming into his own pants with his tongue still on her.

Now her hands smoothed his hair; her fingers circled his ears. Her nails bit his skin, then she said, "Oh, Guy, I'm sorry--"

"Nope," he said, "no go. You hold on as tight as you have to. Just try not to pull my ears off."

She huffed a laugh. Dryly, she said, "I'll try to be gentle." Her nails pricked the sensitive skin behind his ears, and the coolness of her touch, the sting of each nail, that was like an electric current sizzling down his belly and into his cock.

He scissored his fingers in her and drove his tongue against her. His teeth scraped over her clit. Tora pulled on his ears, dragging him closer, urging him on. She moaned desperately and tightened her legs, tightened everything so his fingers were caught within her. The snowflakes had grown fat and wet, falling like cold kisses on his back. He wanted her to come again, wanted Tora slick and trembling and moaning, wanted her smiling through it all as the snow fell down around them. Wanted her hair spilling white across the sheets.

"God, Tora," he said, and he dragged his fingers through her; his tongue roiled over her clit.

She tensed around him and arched, and she said, "Oh, please, oh, Guy, I love you," in her people's tongue, a string of fat vowels that rose up at the end. His hand when he grabbed for his boxers, yanking them down, was wet with her.

"Tora," he said, "Tora, babe, I gotta--"

She pulled at his shoulders, pulled him up with her, and yeah, her hair was wild in the sheets, white as the snow spackled across her breasts and her pregnant belly.

"Yes," she said, "yes, Guy, of course, I want it, too," and she said, "Please," and when he fell in bed beside her, she kissed him so sweetly he thought maybe he was going to die. He groaned into her mouth.

"The hell did I ever do to deserve you?"

Her knee crept up his thigh. "Oh, Guy," she said, "I love you, but would you please--" She swallowed the rest. Her throat shivered. God, her eyes were so huge.

The city lights peeked over her shoulder. Frost glimmered on the glass balcony doors. Guy caught her thigh and drew her closer; the curve of her belly dragged across his muscled gut. Pregnant, he thought again. Jesus, pregnant. He pushed into her.

"Oh, Guy," she sighed again. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his neck, and her knee crept up his hip. His fingers convulsed around her thigh. Tora mouthed at his jaw, trailing such sloppy kisses along his throat.

He pushed again, rocking shallowly. Tora's hips hitched in counterpoint, and her belly brushed him again, again. He kissed her neck, traced the cool column of her throat with his tongue, and her hands fluttered at his nape; she dragged at his hair.

There was a pressure in his head and a pressure in his gut, and as his hips snapped, as he drove into her, as Tora gasped and said, "Oh,  _Guy_ ," he thought: not yet. Her nails scratched his nape. He could still taste her on his tongue. She tipped her head back, and she was smiling, yeah, she was smiling, her eyelashes flickering like an old movie reel. His cock ached; his chest did, too, heart sticking in his throat like it didn't know where it was supposed to be. He jerked again, pushing deeper into that wetness, into Tora who sighed and arched her throat. Tora with a smile on her face. Tora.

"Tora," he said, "Tora,  _Jesus_ \--"

She shivered in his arms again. Her belly was hard and round, brushing up against him. Guy squeezed her thigh, pulled her close, and came violently inside her. The breath tore hot and quick out of his chest. Tora's fingers spasmed in his hair, but he was shaking, too, shaking all over.

There was snow in his eyelashes when he opened his eyes. Tora smiled at him and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand before she pressed her brow to his. He closed his eyes again. He felt her lips on his cheek, her thumb on his throat.

"Missed you," he said. He couldn't even feel stupid about missing her after a day working, missing her so bad, like being away from her for twelve, thirteen hours was too damn much. Having a baby, he thought. Having a baby, and things change.

She kissed his nose this time, her lips cool. He wanted to bury his head in the crook of her shoulder, so he did. Tora petted his nape. Her breasts rose and fell, and she shifted slightly to ease the pressure on her belly. Their knees knocked.

"I missed you, too," Tora said. Her fingers tightened on his nape then eased again. She kissed the inside corner of his eye, where the snow melting in his lashes had pooled. Her lips were nearly warm again. "Now let's get you under the blankets before you freeze."


End file.
